The Avengers' Alliance

Tankred clutched the roll of parchment tightly, which recorded the horrific scenes of mercenary groups that had been "slain."

Giscard's conspiracy is like a large net, enveloping the Norman mercenary group in southern Italy, and these remaining "inheritors" are the prey in the net.

But sometimes, the prey can also become the hunter!

An idea flashed through Tancred's mind, and he seized the opportunity, his voice low but tinged with excitement:

"Eric, those small mercenary groups that were slaughtered—I mean, those that were usurped—are you still able to contact their remaining forces? Where are the disgraced heirs, the sons of the ousted leaders?"

"Why are you asking this?" Eric paused, then looked up and asked.

Tancred sat back on the wooden stool, waving his hands excitedly (Austrian painter.gif):

"Oh, Eric! Because we are the same kind of people! Your father's mercenary group was usurped, your debts hang like Mount Vesuvius... no, like Mount Vesuvius overhead, but even after two years of wandering, you refused to give in. And so do I!"

"I believe that, like you and me, those mercenaries persecuted by Giskar must feel the same way, right?"

"I'm lucky to have gained the favor of Earl Richard, and now I have a small mercenary group, which is why I'm even more eager to help my brothers out!"

Eric took a deep breath, looked at Emma, ​​and seeing her nod, finally spoke:

"I know at least a dozen people, scattered throughout southern Italy. Some are living like me near Aversa, some are working as bodyguards in taverns in other cities, and a few are mooching off monasteries in Benevento. They are all young, around twenty years old like us, with a lot of debt, and no one dares to take us in."

A dozen or so people!

Tancred's heart raced as he rapidly calculated in his mind.

These men are all descendants of mercenary leaders, possessing innate leadership and martial arts skills. If they could be brought under their command, as the mercenary group grows, they might gradually be able to reclaim their former subordinates. At that point, these dozen or so men would not only be extremely grateful, but the mercenary group would effectively have expanded to include over a dozen mercenary squads! Such an alliance composed of "victims" could forge a terrifying force amidst this chaotic situation.

"My God, I've struck gold!" Tankred exclaimed inwardly.

Giscal's plot was originally intended to devour the small group, but he never expected to leave behind so many "seeds." If properly nurtured, these seeds can grow into towering trees that pierce through the giant net.

He stood up, looked directly at Eric, and said firmly:

"Join me, Eric, join the Conteville Mercenary Group! We young people shouldn't give up like this!"

"We should form our own alliance, an alliance of avengers! Think about it, our fathers are watching us from heaven, and we absolutely cannot let their efforts go to waste!"

"Giscal tries to crush us with his schemes, so we must take up our swords! We'll start from Aversa, recruit these scattered brothers, and grow our force. One day, we'll stand before Mefino's castle and make that cunning fox pay!"

"The glory of the Normans should not be based on these cunning schemes, but on iron and blood!"

Tancred's words echoed in the farmhouse. He deliberately slowed his pace, his voice low yet passionate, each sentence like a spark igniting within Eric.

Eric listened, his chest heaving, a fire gradually burning in his eyes. He remembered his father's tragic death, the shackles of debt, the humiliation of being a homeless man... Over the years, he had been in despair, but Tancred's words were like a ray of light, illuminating the path to revenge.

“Yes, why should we accept our fate?” Eric murmured. His fists clenched, the pain from his wounds seemingly fueling his resolve. “Those schemers, they all deserve to die! Tankred, you’re right, I’m willing to join you! Let’s find our brothers, form an Avengers alliance, and make Giscal pay!”

Eric was overwhelmed with emotion. He stood up abruptly, ignoring the pain in his thigh, and extended his hand. Tankred grasped it firmly, and their palms met.

Tankred nodded, secretly pleased. He immediately gave instructions: "Eric, your injuries are quite severe. Come back to Aversa with me to recover. Meanwhile, you must contact your brothers as soon as possible and tell them that the Conteville Mercenary Group is their eternal home, and we will take revenge together! Miss Emma, ​​please also return immediately to see the Earl. I think the Earl will be very pleased to see an alliance against Giscard!"

Eric and Emma nodded and began packing their remaining belongings, while Tankred leaped onto his horse, his mind racing.

This is a fantastic opportunity!

The horrific state of those mercenary groups, combined with the lords' anxieties about Giscal, would undoubtedly evoke a massive wave of support if made public. The Normans were inherently unruly, and Count Richard wasn't the only one dissatisfied with Autel's rule. Using this as a pretext to attack Giscal might tear open a rift within the Autel family, unleashing even greater chaos.

Chaos is a ladder, and Tankred is ready to climb it.

but...

The journey back to Avelsa should have been peaceful, but Tancred and Old John soon realized something was wrong!

Along their journey, they encountered more and more mercenaries, knights, and lords, all converging on Aversa. There were also numerous small groups of lone warriors, their armor worn and tattered, still making their way towards Aversa.

"Hey friend, what's going on? Why are so many people heading to Aversa?" Tankred asked, stopping a passing mercenary.

The mercenary was initially impatient, but upon seeing the Drogon family crest on Tanker's saddle, he immediately replied respectfully, "I don't know, sir. We only received word that all Normans capable of fighting are gathering at the nearest lord. We heard something major has happened, but nobody knows the specifics."

All the Normans are gathering?

There must have been tens of thousands of Norman warriors who ventured into southern Italy. What exactly happened?

Tankred's heart sank, and he quickly spurred his horse to speed up, galloping all the way.

When they arrived in Aversa, it was already dark, the city gates were wide open, and knights were coming and going.

Tancred headed straight for the castle, and the guards recognized him and immediately let him through. Soon he met Earl Richard in the main hall.

"Tankred! You're back!" Count Richard was pacing back and forth, his face full of anxiety. When he saw Tankred, he didn't even ask about Emma's condition, but immediately waved away the servants.

"Tankred," the Count's voice trembled slightly, "Lord Drogon was assassinated on Christmas Day!"